Rebelion: a story of passion, courage and broken dreams
by MJElliot
Summary: Under thick layers of makeup and a perky attitude hides an unexpected hero. This is the story of the escort that was instrumental to the fall of the Capitol.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Effie was never my favorite character, but somehow i found my thoughts returning to her every time i thought about the books. So i tried to imagine her life and how she ended up being the escort of District 12. And boy, was I surprised where that story took me...Because the Effie in my mind is not at all like the capitol puppet described in the books. She is smart, brave and amazing. Also, she isn't from the Capitol! **

**I think her's is a story worth telling, and if you'll have the patience to follow it (even though it might not be what you expect some times) I think you'll be surprised. **

**Hope you will enjoy it as much as i did imagining it!**

* * *

**46 years after the fall of district 13**

In most districts the Reaping happens annually. Here, in District 1 it only happens once. Well, once for every person, the year they turn twelve.

All of us have to go trough the _Selection_. It happens quietly, behind the closed doors of the District Hall building, away from the cameras and the prying eyes of the Capitol. They usually pick more than one boy and girl and lock them away in a great ugly building at the outskirt of the town with the word _Gymnasium_ written in big chunky letters above the entrance. Nobody knows what it is exactly that they do in there, but by the time they're 17 or 18 they come out and volunteer at the Reaping. By then most of them are regular killing machines.

We still put on a great show for the other districts though. Every year we have a formal Reaping, exquisitely organized for the cameras and the eyes of the whole of Panem. Each year the eligible children are herded together in the square, the bowls are always full to the brim with neat little folded paper squares, holding their names; the escort rants away about the glory of the Games and the greatness of the Capitol and then extracts the "lucky" names.

In our case all of it is just for show. The names of the tributes are carefully selected a good while before the TV Reaping, out of the smaller and more select pool of children that spend years training to become killers- killers of other children. That's why District 1 wins so many of the Games. That's why the other districts call them _Careers._

Of course, our district is not the only one to do this. There is at least one other – District 2. And maybe 4, but I'm not sure about that one…but who knows how many others do it…They don't tell us much about the other districts- except for what they teach us in school, about what they do and how superior we are to them.

See, we create beautiful things in District 1. Gorgeous, opulent, "deluxe products"; jewelery and clothing that the Capitol people value and desire. Things for which they pay ridiculous amounts of money. Or so I've heard. Maybe that's why they close an eye on our little arrangement. Or maybe they have a stake in it all. Rumors say there are big bets made on the Games. For them this is _entertainment…_

I hate the Capitol people! I hate them and the clothes we make for them and the ugly trinkets they just "can't live without" and their ridiculous way of speaking. But most of all I hate them because I want to be like them. I want the luxury and the glamour and their mindless existence. And I hate them more because from where I am standing, the life I want seems like such an impossible dream…especially now- the night before _my_ reaping…

I toss again in my bed. I can't sleep. And by the sounds coming from the other beds in the dormitory I am not the only one. But unlike the others _I_ have a plan. _I_ didn't spend every day since my twelfth birthday crying like Lacey, or stuffing my face like Paisley or even praying like Shine- not that that's even allowed…No. _I_ started my plan long before my twelfth birthday.

And my plan is simple: look as weak, as unhealthy and as inconspicuous as possible- the total opposite of what the trainers look for in a prospect champion. So, I have been slowly starving myself for the last six months. I was always skinny - even in District 1, with all the attention we get from the Capitol, the food is far from enough- but now you can easily count all of my ribs and my thin, cold limbs look kind of breakable. I cut my hair short and made sure not to wash it too often. I scraped my knees and my elbows to make myself look clumsy and accident prone. Last time I took a good look at myself in the mirror I looked extremely skinny. I was pale, shaggy and bruised. Poor diet and a self-imposed lack of sleep (not that I could have slept anyway) made sure dark circles surrounded my grey eyes, making them look faded. I am pleased- I look so frail…

I feel my stomach grumble and I hug my now very tiny waist under the blanket. I haven't eaten anything in 5 days. I just took small sips of water and hoarded the least perishable food under my mattress. When this is all over, I can have my feast. "_You're almost there, Effie_" I tell myself over and over, careful not to voice anything out loud. "_Just hold on one more day_". Just one more day and it will all be over. I hug myself tighter, squeezing my eyes shut and I ardently hope that my efforts will be enough.

* * *

**End note: I'm sort of new to the fanfic world and I haven't written many things so far...so please, let me know what you think and what I ****can **do to improve :) Looking forward to your comments, M.


	2. Chapter 2

We got dressed in an eerie quiet this morning. I guess none of us had anything to say. I could hear the hustle and bustle in the streets outside our window. For most people this was just an ordinary day—going to work, going to school, going through the motions. How I wished I was one of them.

The four of us didn't look at each other as we lined up after the attendant and followed her towards the square. I took one last look at the room that I thought of as my own for the last four years—since I arrived at the community home. I felt my heart flutter in my chest. Maybe this was the last time I would look at it. _Get a grip, Effie_! I angrily thought to myself, _you'll be back in time for dinner_.

* * *

When we get to the square and take our places in the line I finally steel myself and take a look around. The first thing I notice is that it's a beautiful day, with a clear blue sky and a light breeze that fills the square with the smell of flowers. I take a deep cleansing breath. Maybe this is a good sign…

I look at the other people around me. They're so different in height, weight and color, but somehow the pain and fear on their faces turn them into a grey wall of sameness. Except for her—a little girl wearing a bright red dress. She's tiny and very pretty, with huge dark eyes, wavy hair that falls to her waist—so dark that it makes her pale face look almost transparent. She's surrounded by her family. I can tell her mother has been crying—her eyes are swollen and brimmed with pink. She's holding a baby in her arms. I often asked myself why people kept bringing babies into this world, knowing they could be taken away and murdered for fun on public television.

The father has his arms on the girl's shoulders and I can hear him telling her that she's going to be ok, that they won't pick her and that they will be waiting for her to take her home after all this is done. I hear him calling her Ruby Rose. She doesn't say anything; she just looks ahead, a blank stare on her face. She seems calm, almost at peace. I keep my eyes on her, hoping to borrow some of that strength.

And then it begins. We're taken away inside the big hall where efficient people dressed in green uniforms work on us throughout the day, measuring us, pricking and prodding, collecting samples of fluids and bodily products into glimmering silver vials. They plaster us with colorful sticky dots all over our bodies and make us run and jump and stretch and lift things.

Ruby Rose keeps her composed demeanor and I do the same.

When it's all done they make us sit in a row, shivering in our undergarments, awaiting our sentence. I keep my eyes to the ground as a kind-faced woman paces before us, taking her time deciding. She picks the boys first. One of them has to be carried out, wailing and thrashing by one of the Peacekeepers.

My heart is drumming loud and fast and I feel the beats reverberating through my exhausted body, making it shake. With each name I feel myself tensing up, tighter and tighter until I feel like I'm going to snap. We're down to last name and I can see the woman's boots stopping in front of me. My lungs stop working and all I can do is think "She's will not pick me!" over and over in my head.

When she finally speaks, it's not my name she's calling out and I can finally let go of the breath I was holding for what seemed like forever.

I look up in time to see the last girl that had been chosen being escorted out. She's so tiny next to the bulky peacekeeper. Her pale face shows no emotion, but tears are silently flowing down her cheeks, knotting under her chin and staining the bright red dress she clutches to her chest.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been two weeks now and I still dream about Ruby Rose, her pale face wet with tears, watching me accusingly. I don't know why I feel so guilty...maybe because she was so tiny and frail. Oh, why did they have to pick her?

But I can't bring myself to wish she wasn't picked either, because I'm pretty sure _I_ was the alternative.

I tried my best to go back to the life I had before the Selection- school, homework, community service. Eating again, although my appetite seems to take longer to return.

Tonight I had a different dream. It started like all the others—me in the square, lost among a sea of grey, shapeless things—I could never make out what they were. This time I was moving forward, searching for something. And then I heard it—a giggle, a happy child's giggle echoing through my dream, beckoning me. I started running towards the sound, pushing the grey things out of my way. The giggle echoed louder and louder, until it was booming around me, morphing slowly into my name, making my whole body reverberate with it. I stopped dead in my tracks and covered my ears—the sound was too loud, almost painful. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to keep the sound out, but it seemed to be inside my head now, bouncing off the sides of my skull.

And then it stopped just as suddenly as it began. I straightened up and opened my eyes. The grayness was gone, replace by a bright white light.

In front of me was Ruby Rose, dressed in her bright red dress, smiling at me. There were no tears on her face and her pale cheeks bore a slight blush—like she had been running too.

She was very beautiful; I couldn't do anything but stare at her.

She said my name in a high sing-song voice and playfully pushed my shoulder.

"Tag! You're it," she giggled then opened her arms wide and let herself fall back into the white nothingness.

I woke up startled and sweaty, heart racing in my chest.

* * *

The next morning two peacekeepers show up in class, flanking the kind-looking lady from the Reaping. Her eyes skim the class room until they find me.

"Euphemia Goldsmith, gather your belongings and come with me."

I slowly get up from my desk, square my still too thin shoulders and walk away, leaving my school things spread on the table, next to my broken dreams.

I will not be needing either where I'm going.


	4. Chapter 4

They walked me to a dodgy car parked outside the school. Even if we're one of the well-off districts, we still can't afford the shiny new cars they drive in the Capitol. I got in without saying a word. I was afraid of what might come out if I opened my mouth.

I kept trying to hold on to a flicker of hope that maybe they were here for some other reason—something other than the _Selection_…but my mind kept playing back those agonizing minutes when I was almost chosen, and I knew it was a very long shot that this meeting was unrelated.

The lady took the seat next to me and introduced herself. She was one of the victors that won the games 10 years ago and she was in charge of selecting the special few that had the honor of being prepared for representing the District in the Games to come. Her words, not mine— myself, I didn't see the honor in being a killer. And then she announced in a solemn voice that I was one of those "privileged few." I felt my heart drop and with it that last shred of hope I was holding on to slipped away from me.

She kept going on, not bothering to wait for a response from my part, about sacrifice and bravery and again about honor, but I tuned her out. Her speech seemed fake and rehearsed— I guess years of repetition take their toll on even the most patriotic of us.

I hugged myself, a gesture that had become familiar to me during the last months of worrying, and continued to stare ahead. Oddly enough I didn't feel the need to cry. Or scream. Or any of the other things I had felt during the weeks since the Selection.

Actually, I felt sort of relieved. My worst fears had just become reality. Now I didn't have to worry any longer. I could focus on how to make the best out of this situation. After all, I've always managed to land on my feet.

But to do that now, I needed to know one thing.

When we reached our destination, the lady— Selena — finally finished her speech. I turned and looked at her, surprised to see her face still seemed kind to me.

"Why me?" I asked in a surprisingly steady voice.

She looked as if taken by surprise by my question and then seemed to ponder for a few seconds. I worried she wouldn't answer.

"Well...we do need to lose the Games at some point..."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thank you for my first review! It's great to know my little story hasn't gone unnoticed, like I was dreading it might :)**

**And no, it's not the end. I have great plans for little Effie- I will take her "all the way to Capitol" and beyond, to district 12. Hopefully she will go as far as the Rebellion, as was my original plan. I'm just taking things slow, and see how they develop, because already I have deviated a bit from my original idea.**

**I do hope you will continue reading... and reviewing :)**

* * *

"Soooo…Euphemia Goldsmith…isn't that a mouthful for such a tiny little thing!"

I look up from my bowl of mush that I keep moving from one side of my plate to the other. I've been living at the gymnasium for over a week now, and I did my best to keep to myself. I didn't talk to anybody, went straight to my room after the never ending hours of exercise and always sat alone at the table when I ate. The others, in turn, paid me no attention. Until now…

I scowl at the girl who threw herself on the chair opposite me and watches me expectantly, her chin propped in her hands.

"Come on Yeeew- pheee-miaaaa," she urges in a mocking tone. "There has to be something else we can call you."

"How about you don't call me anything and leave me alone?" I reply drily. She's older than me, taller and more athletic, and after seeing her at combat practice these last few days, I have no doubt she could make me regret my bold answer. I steady myself in case I need to run, but she just widens her eyes in mock surprise before giving me a crooked smile.

"She speaks!" she shouts over her shoulders to no one in particular then turns back to face me again.

"You know," she says in a confidential tone, "we thought that maybe you were a mute. Don't have many of those around here. We actually had a little bet going, too."

I stare back at her not knowing what to say to that. She returns my stare for a couple of moments, waiting for a response.

"There's really no point for…_this,_" she finally says waiving a long finger in my direction.

"And what exactly is _this_?"

"You're trying to keep everybody away. That's not a very smart move on the long run".

"Long run?" I snort. "There isn't going to be a _long run_! Or did you forget where we are?"

"Oh _I _know exactly where we are. I've been here longer. And I'm telling you—it's better to have some friends here, to watch your back at least..."

"My back doesn't need watching. Not anymore." I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice.

"You know, this doesn't need to be the end. Yes, you've been selected but that doesn't mean you will necessarily go into the Games. And even if you do…you will know how to keep yourself alive."

"Is that what you told Ruby Rose?"

I can see my question hit a nerve, because she draws back from the table, inhaling sharply. She's not smiling anymore when she replies in a quiet voice.

"Ruby was a very troubled little girl. She wasn't supposed to be picked in the first place."

"Yeah, well, I don't think I'm supposed to be here either, yet here I am…"

She seems about to say something back but then forces a little laugh and raises her hands in defense.

"Okay, okay carrot-top. I see there's no talking sense into you now."

"Don't call me that," I scowl back, automatically raising my hand to smooth the hair on the back of my head. It started growing out and my new and improved diet returned its former color and shine.

"How did you manage to get _that_ in?" she asks eyeing my wrist and the bracelet that hangs loosely around it. "We're not allowed to wear jewelry in here."

"Nobody told me that," I mumble, pulling my sleeve over it and holding the edge in my fist, covering the bracelet completely.

"Better take care of it. Pretty trinket like that—would be a waste if something happened to it."

"Lidia! Let's go!" an older girl barks from the door, and my very talkative companion rises from the table, gives me a wink and heads off.

* * *

Two days later, during basic combat training my bracelet gets caught up in the trainer's zipper and breaks, falling in the grass at our feet. He retrieves it, gives it a despising look and throws it far away in the bushes lining the training field. I get to run 10 extra laps for disobeying the rules.

Now I have lost the last object tying me to the life before the Selection. Now, I am nobody.

When I get to my room I finally break down and cry for the first time since I got to the Gymnasium.


	6. Chapter 6

I got the bracelet from my father.

My mother died having me, so he had to raise me up alone. He was a jeweler—people said he was the best. Many used to come all the way from the Capitol to buy his work.

My mother's death broke him. He loved her very much. Not me though... I guess in his eyes I was the reason why she was taken away from him. My resemblance to her didn't help matters either.

He tried to raise me as best as he could and while I was a baby I didn't want for anything—except for his love and affection.

I don't remember when he started drinking, I was probably way to young. By the time I was old enough to understand what was going on, he was almost always drunk. I didn't mind it. The alcohol made him less bitter and made it easier for him to show me affection. He used to call me "sweetheart" and bounce me on his knees. Sometimes he would laugh—I loved it when he did. These moments never lasted and usually he ended up hugging me tightly to his chest and crying in my hair. Promising he would be a better father for me. Promising he would love me.

As time passed the alcohol took its toll on him. His hands started shaking and he had permanent migraines. It was harder and harder for him to work and the customers got fewer and fewer. This made him sad, so he drank more. In the end, hardly anybody would cross our threshold.

I had to learn how to take care of myself. We had some help in the beginning a woman that had been friends with my mother used to come by every once in a while, making us a hot meal, doing some washing and some housekeeping. One day, drunk as usual, my father chased her away with a broom. She didn't come back after that.

So I learned how to take care of him too— give him little white pills before he'd fall asleep to help with the pain he would get in the morning. Making sure he ate something every day and that he was sober enough to bathe at least once a week.

By the time I turned 8 the money he had put aside was almost gone and I had spent a good number of nights going to bed with an empty stomach.

One night my father called me in his work room—what used to be his work room, anyway. Now it was a dark, foul smelling place, filled with broken bottles strewn across the floor. He wouldn't let me clean it.

He sat at his work table, his head in his hands. He didn't move when I walked in, so I warily got closer and put a hand on his shoulder. He turned to me with blood-shot eyes, filled with hope.

"Vale... is that you, sweetheart?" he asked, tenderly stroking my hair.

"No Daddy, it's just me."

"My little Effie…you look so much like you mother. You have her eyes. And her beautiful red hair…" he trailed off, sadness etched on his face.

"But Daddy, I look like you too. I have your nose. And your hands," I wiggled my fingers in front of my nose, trying to lighten the mood. He rewarded me with a weak smile.

"True...but apart from those, you're your mother's daughter. And I'm grateful for that." He sighed and moved to open a drawer. He took out an elegant little box with a bow on top.

"This belonged to your mother," he said opening the box. "She brought it to me to have it fixed. That was the first time I laid eyes on her and I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I couldn't help falling in love."

He took out a beautifully crafted bracelet. At closer inspection, I noticed it was made of wispy gold threads, weaved together in an intricate but delicate design. It was the most exquisite thing I'd ever seen.

"Valentina would have wanted you to have it, sweetheart," he told me, fastening the bracelet around my wrist and admiring it in the faint candlelight that lit the room.

"I haven't been a good father, I know that," he continued, holding my hand in his. "I've promised I'd do better before, baby girl, I know I have. But from now on I really will. I'll take good care of you and make your mother proud."

It's not like I hadn't heard that before. But the way he said it then, the intensity and focus I saw in his eyes, made me believe him for the first time. I threw my arms around his neck, as tears spilled down my face.

"Thank you, Daddy…" I managed to get out between sobs. "I love you!"

He cradled me in his arm, whispering soothing words until I calmed down and fell asleep. The last thing I remember before drifting away was my father's voice, telling me he loved me too.

I woke up the next day filled with hope for a better life. My father was still asleep in his room, so I kissed him lightly on the cheek, careful not to wake him and left for school.

At lunch, a social worker came looking for me. He told me there was a fire and my house had burned down. They found what they believed to be my father's remains between the burning cinders.

And like that, I found myself living in the community home, with only a wispy bracelet hanging loosely around my wrist to remind me of my family.

* * *

I tried looking for it, every chance I got after training, but came up scratched and empty handed. Just when I gave up hope I found a parcel tied to the knob on my door. Inside it—my bracelet. It was intact, no signs of breakage or time spent on the ground. The paper it was wrapped in had something written in neat little letters on the inside:

_Told you to take care of it, didn't I?_

_And that it's not bad to have friends_

_in the right places…maybe this_

_will convince you, stubborn Miss Trinket!_

_Lidia_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thump!_

I hit the ground hard and now I'm staring, wide-eyed and breathless up the tree I've been trying (very unsuccessfully) to climb. I wait for a few moments for my lungs to restart before I slowly scramble to my feet.

I hear laughter behind me, spiced up with a few "friendly" comments – something about my impaired coordination and utter lack of grace. I try to ignore them, but I have to admire the fact that after an hour of watching me fall flat on my back, their mocking arsenal is still far from being exhausted.

"Again!" I hear Rufus shout with annoyance somewhere behind. Rufus is the one handling the newcomers and is supposed to help us get in shape for the more physically challenging activities that lie ahead. I would catalogue climbing trees as a challenging activity, but it seems like no one else shares my opinion—they all managed to get to the top after only a couple attempts. After I failed a tenth time, Rufus gathered everybody to watch me—he said it would boost my spirit. Oddly enough, the choir of laughter, whistling and booing didn't quite have the desired effect on me.

"Maybe she needs some extra motivation." The malicious tone made me turn around in time to see a gangly boy, with acne on his nose, point a slingshot in my direction. Before I get a chance to react I feel a sharp pain in my forearm— the bastard hit me with a pointy pebble! I instinctively cover the sore spot with my hand, when I feel two more stabs- one on my calf, the other in my ribs. The pain starts small but blossoms in throbbing circles that seem to grow larger and larger with every passing second. I feel my cheeks redden. I take yet another hit in my knee cap; this time he must have used a larger stone, because I feel my whole calf slowly going numb. I want to shout curses at him, but all I can see around me is sneering faces and I know any offensive action against him will be useless.

So, I shoot him a hateful look and limp towards the tree, for another try. This time I manage to get pass the middle, when my injured knee gives away and I take the hardest fall of all, hitting a snag with the other leg on my way down. The crusty bark cuts through my skin, leaving an impressive gash on the inside of my calf that immediately starts bleeding, staining my blue training uniform. I try to get up, but the sight of my shredded calf mixed with the heat and exhaustion take their toll on me and I crumble back on the grass.

I hear the chorus of voices around me, urging me to get up, but the only thing I am able to is turn on my side and cough a few times to get my lungs working again, after the fall knocked the air out of them.

I recognize the voice of the boy with the slingshot, but I can't make out the words. Maybe the fall was worse than I thought.

"That's enough, Plat." Rufus' voice booms above me, sounding very close. "She had enough for today. I think we all had." I feel a strong hand grabbing my upper arm and practically jerking me to my feet. The sudden movement makes me a bit wobbly.

"I see I have my work cut out for me, with you," Rufus says under his breath. "You! Take her to the infirmary. Now," he adds, releasing my arm. I feel myself slightly tipping sideways, but then a firm arm circles my waist, supporting me upright.

"Well, well, Miss Trinket. It seems that trouble finds you far too easily."

I frown in the direction of Lidia's voice. All I can see is a shiny, sleek curtain of blond hair.

"Can't argue there," I retort. "And my name is Effie."

"Finally—we're getting somewhere. But you should know I've grown quite fond of Miss Trinket," she says flashing me a grin from behind the blond curtain.

"Well then, you should know that _Miss Trinket_ is not the friendly type."

"Yeah, I kind of got that. But I'm hoping I can persuade _Effie_ I'm not that bad," she says opening the door to the infirmary. I hop through the door and wrinkle my nose as the smell of medicine hits me.

"Does it hurt?" Lidia asks, eyeing my bloody calf. I take a few moments to assess the damage. "It's not as bad as it looks," I say, noticing with a little surprise that the pain has reduced to a dull throbbing.

Lidia helps me sit on a cot, gently lifting my injured leg.

"Lidia!" A lady with grey curly hair, dressed in a bright pink uniform approaches us. I remember her from the Selection Day, and I can't help myself shudder. Lidia turns around, a huge grin on her face.

"Miss Anabelle!" she replies and they both hug. Friendly person, this Lidia…

"Girl, I haven't seen you around here…" the lady trails off, a flitting shadow crossing her face. Lidia breaks her embrace.

"So, what do we have here?" the lady asks, turning to me with an eager look on her face. Maybe too eager, I think—she must really want to change the subject.

"My friend _Effie,_" Lidia stresses my name "fell out of a tree."

Anabelle's light hands turn my leg from one side to the other and she asks Lidia to bring some weird sounding things from a cabinet.

"It's definitely going to leave a scar," the lady says after a short examination, pursing her lips. Back with the medicine, Lidia wiggles her eyebrows at me mouthing something that looks very much like "bad ass." I can't help a smile and roll my eyes.

The lady works on my leg while chitchatting with Lidia about training and instructors I haven't met yet. She pours a clear liquid over my calf, which washes away the blood and leaves my skin prickling. Then she applies several layers of a foul smelling ointment, wraps it in a stretchy cloth and instructs me to lie still for a few hours.

"I'll go see about lunch. Then we can catch up," she says heading for the door and winking at Lidia, who seems very at ease, perched on the cot next to me.

"Old friends?" I ask Lidia, inviting her to explain.

"You could say that…I used to spend a great deal of time here during my first year."

"Huh" is all I can say, because Lidia seems more likely to be the cause of somebody being sent to the infirmary than the actual victim. Which reminds me…

"Who was the guy with the sling shot?" I ask, brushing my fingers over the lump he left on my forearm.

"That would be Platinum Weaver the Third," she replies in mock Capitol voice. "Or Plat the Brat, as I call him. He's a bit of a jerk." My eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

"Okay," she laughs, "maybe more than just a bit. Takes after his dad, I guess. He was the victor of the First Quarter Quell." I make a mental note to stay away from this Platinus character from now on.

I stare at the cracks in the ceiling for a while, sneaking a few peeks at Lidia. She's tall, muscular, with a square jaw, piercing blue eyes and a mane of blond hair that she's busy twisting into an intricate braid. I don't understand her…this is the last place I'd want to make a friend. I mean, why bother to be nice to people when you're secretly hoping they will be chosen to die in your place? Not that she will, if it comes to it.

I watched her more closely after the incident with my bracelet and I'm pretty sure that if she ever gets chosen, she will definitely have all the odds in her favor. She's the popular, good-at-everything-she-does type of person. Actually, if we were outside the Gymnasium, she'd probably be hanging out with the cool kids in school, not even knowing I exist. We have nothing in common, except for the fact that fate turned a blind eye on us on the day of our Selection.

So why is she trying so hard to be my friend?


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: well, this took a lot longer than I anticipated...but it's finally up, so yay! for that :) **

**I have also taken some time to go over and correct the previous chapters, which had a inappropriate amount of errors in them, fact for which I apologize and have hopefully rectified. I couldn't have done any of it without my amazing beta who has the greatest eye for detail and an impressive amount of patience. Thank you so very, very much!**

* * *

"You're staring," Lidia laughs, letting go of the braid she was working on. I watch as it unravels, her blond locks twisting around each other like they have a life of their own. My hair would never do that— it's always flat against my scalp, hanging unceremoniously around my pale face, making it look paler still; just another thing setting us apart. So, I ask myself again, why this persistence? I look her straight in the eyes, searching for some hidden reason for her kindness. I can't find any, so I have to ask.

"_Why_ do you want to be my friend?"

I see her grin broadening, like she was expecting my question.

"Well…since I am going to be spending a fair share of my time carrying you to the infirmary, we might as well be on friendly terms."

Great. She's taking pity in the newcomer. I know my flaws, I know I'm weak, but for some reason the fact that Lidia sees me as such a pathetic weakling pushes my buttons.

"Or you could just leave me alone. Nobody asked you to help me." I can't keep the sting out of my voice, as I turn to stare back at the ceiling. The hell with her— I don't need anybody's pity.

"Technically, Rufus ordered me to come with you. But Effie," her voice becomes softer, "I would have come anyway. I told you—I know how this feels. God knows I've had my fair share of afternoons spend on this cot, mending."

"The truth is," she goes on, as I continue my fascination with the cracks in the ceiling, "it can get pretty lonely around here and I'm sick of this feeling." This is not an answer I would have expected from Miss Popularity over there. In all my time here I've never, ever seen her alone. She's always surrounded by people, chatting and smiling like she owns the place.

"Yeah, I don't really buy that. I mean, you're friends with the staff, for crying out loud," I finally turn to face her, searching again for some sign that would help me read her. I might be weak and pathetic but I'm not a fool.

"Miss Annabelle is the exception to the rule," she says as a funny little smile flows over her features, before turning serious again. "Do you know what is the most essential thing they teach us here?" she asks, fixing me with her steady gaze. How can I not know the answer to that?

"Yeah…They teach us how to become murderers," I almost spit out, noticing by the arch of her eyebrows that I've managed to shock her to some extent. Good. Maybe if she knows how much I despise the Career life style, she'll leave me alone.

"No, Euphemia. This is where you're wrong. Yes, they do train us to be lethal, but that's not the most important thing you learn here." Now it's my turn to raise my eyebrows. Lidia takes a deep breath, as if trying to arrange the words in her head before speaking them out loud.

"You learn how to be someone else. Once you're selected, you have no choice but to become someone else, someone the Capitol wants to see on the big screen. Once you've stepped through that door, you leave whatever it is that makes you _you _behind. You become someone else because it keeps you going through all the training and pain, because it's easier to face the horrors that lie ahead. Because it's easier to justify your actions once you go into the Games. You have to change, there is no choice.

"Even if you don't want to, they will still force you to. They will mold you in the shape they need for the games they play. It takes time and varying degrees of coercion, but eventually everyone changes..." She's holding my gaze, searching my face, looking for some sign of apprehension. Gone is the carefree girl that she presented herself as before. There is an intensity in her eyes, a sort of sad determination that makes me question my assumption about her. And then I sort of see it— the change she just described, only on reverse. I see the mask she has created for herself slip away. I see the depth of her big, blue eyes, the tiny change in the setting of her mouth and her eyebrows. Her features, taken one by one, are still the same, but now, rearranged like that, they seem to tell another story. A story I can read far easily than the smoke and mirrors that was her cheery personality a moment ago. A story that I think I might be able to understand and…maybe even relate to. She must finally find what she was searching for in my features, because she continues.

"This change is both a blessing and a curse. It helps you go on, but it prevents you from having any sort of relationship with those around you. We do _affiliate._" She crinkles her nose slightly at the word. "It's useful on some level, I guess. It keeps the loneliness at bay during the day, it keeps your mind occupied. But at night it's just you and your mask and sea of feelings that you have to keep bottled up inside. And I'm afraid that if I keep doing this I will eventually forget how to open the lid when I am able to. This is why I want to be your friend, Effie; because you're not tainted by the mind games we're forced to play here, not yet. I want this friendship because I need a reminder of what's real…" She trails off, a hint of uncertainty in her tone as she lowers her gaze. She lets out a strained little laugh.

"You must think I'm such a weakling," she says in a small voice, focusing on the tips of her shoes.

I take a moment to think about all of this. I've been keeping my feelings to myself since I can remember. I never had a mother I could talk to, my father was a drunk who avoided me at any cost, so it only felt natural for me to keep to myself even when I moved to the community home. For me this is normal, this is something I'm comfortable with. But I can't deny I've had my moments when I craved a companion, someone I could talk about my fears and hopes and dreams. I never let anybody in because I didn't think they would understand, and I preferred being lonely to being judged and ridiculed. I look at Lidia, hidden behind the flow of blond waves, silently waiting for my answer. She took a chance showing me this side of her, one that she apparently keeps hidden from the others. Seeing her like this- exposed, vulnerable, makes me feel somewhat safe. Like I don't need to keep my walls up in front of her. She's the first person I can actually picture myself opening up to. I sigh, as the irony dawns on me- finding a person that could potentially be my friend in a place that most probably prepares me for my death.

"No," I finally reply, "It doesn't make you weak. It makes you normal." I see her looking up at me with evident relief shining in her eyes. "And in this situation, being normal is actually a sign of strength." She smiles at me and I reward her with an awkward smile of my own.

"But…" I continue, carefully selecting my words. "I don't know if I can be the kind of friend you want me to be." I don't want to hurt her feelings, but she has to know I might not be able to offer her what she needs. "I'm not good at sharing feelings. I…I've been on my own…as long as I can remember. I don't know if I can…" But she doesn't let me finish. She jumps off her cot and takes the two steps that close the distance between us. She's harboring a dazzling smile, radiating sincerity.

"That doesn't matter, Effie! We can figure things out as long as you're willing. I won't push you, I promise. I just…_need_ to know I have someone _real_ to talk to, not just some made up character, playing a part."

I look at her eager smile, her blue eyes wide with excitement and I search for a sign of deception, something that could indicate that she might be the one playing mind games, but I still come up empty.

"Please, Effie," she adds like she could read my mind. "Please, just give me a chance." Her smile is contagious and I feel my lips twitching, which she takes as a sign of agreement. I see her smile broaden even more- something I didn't think to be possible— and I have a feeling she might try to hug me. I must make a face, since I'm not really comfortable with this kind of behavior, and she mercifully just place her hand on top of mine, giving it a warm, powerful squeeze.

I don't really know what to say or how to react to this, but I don't have to because Miss Annabelle comes in with a tray of some delicious smelling thing. It's roasted groosling, a treat which is so difficult to procure that I can't even begin to imagine how much she had to pay for it. I guess being friends with Lidia might have its perks, so I try not to give in to the doubts that already start forming in the back of mind.

As I reach for a second helping of groosling, I decide to trust Lidia. Who knows how much time I still have left of my life? I might as well try to make the best of it, while I can. And I have a feeling, being friends with her will definitely help me do just that.


End file.
